


Star Fighting Man

by Kalypso



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-07
Updated: 2005-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:35:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalypso/pseuds/Kalypso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jarriere is enjoying a quiet day in a Rest Centre when he unexpectedly finds himself on a strange space ship facing unexpected danger with an unexpected ally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star Fighting Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sally M (sallymn)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sally+M+%28sallymn%29).



> This was written for the [Jarriere ficathon](http://www.livejournal.com/users/mistraltoes/147264.html), which was organised by [MistralAmara](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MistralAmara), and specifically it was for [Sally Mn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sallymn), who requested "the pearl earrings; Jarriere in control of Orac and/or the Liberator; and one of the old Federation Rest Centres Vila mentions in _Horizon_ ". RedStarRobot and [AJHall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AJHall) offered some very helpful advice.
> 
> If you're looking for a story about the Liberator crew, you'll probably be disappointed; their appearances are very fleeting.
> 
> Two more notes: (1) In a couple of other locations, I've tried to write a Scots-speaking Jarriere, because I couldn't think how else to convey a Scots accent. I didn't do more than the odd word here, because canonically he doesn't speak Scots, he speaks BBC English with a Scottish accent, and anyway I don't know Scots. So just remember he _is_ speaking/thinking with a Scots accent. (2) And this story is set between _Horizon_ and _Pressure Point_.

I'm just walking in through the changing room door when the small man coming out bumps into me. Of course, when I say "small" he's bigger than me, but most are. "Sorry," he says, but he barely looks as he dashes on. I know a man heading for the pleasure machines when I see one, and I can't blame him; I was pretty pleased myself when a client offered me a free pass as a bonus for a job well done. Chitta won the battle for independence some years ago, but the Rest Centre's one bit of Federation culture no one ever throws out. It brings in a fair few off-worlders, like me, looking for a comfortable break.

It's only when I'm dressed again that I notice my earring's gone. It must have dropped off when he jolted me, that happens sometimes. I've got another - they always seem to sell 'em in pairs, maybe they expect you to lose one - but it's on my ship, of course, so I start scanning the floor, and I've crawled behind the lockers to see if it's rolled into a corner when I hear the door open again.

 

"Well, Vila hasn't wasted any time," says a voice.

"Vila always wastes his time," says another. "Not to mention everyone else's. It suggests, however, a perfect grasp of the purpose of this trip."

"I know you have doubts," says the first one, and I wonder why he sounds amused. "But you know what Cally said. We really need this chance to relax and recharge our batteries."

"And I'm supposed to relax, when someone might cut my throat in the sauna?"

"That's why we picked an independent planet. They're perfectly friendly."

"There's nothing to stop the Federation keeping spies around the place. We'd be sitting targets if they spotted us."

As it happens, I haven't done any Federation jobs for a couple of months, but this doesn't seem like the ideal moment to emerge from the lockers.

"We'll spot them first," says the other voice. "That was a good idea of yours, getting Orac to monitor the security cameras." I glance towards the ceiling, but maybe Chittans are prudish, there's no camera in here. "Anything suspicious, we'll know about it. And there's five of us to handle any trouble."

"Four, you mean. The girls may be up for a fight, but Vila will be even less use than usual if he's in a computer-aided sensual stupor..."

"Four of us should be quite enough; anything Vila can add is a bonus. But stop worrying, there's no reason to expect trouble. Come on, enjoy yourself for once."

There's a snort, some banging as they close their lockers, and then the sound of footsteps interrupted by the door opening and shutting. It's safe to come out. I peer under the bench near the lockers to see if my earring's down there, and it isn't, but there's something else, much bigger; I pull it out for a look. Some sort of armlet, in a brown material, with shiny bits. I try it for size, and my thumb brushes a button on one side.

 _"Well?"_ says a voice, crabbitly. _"Are you coming back already?"_

I glance round. "Er..."

 _"Have you finished on your_ pleasure _machines?"_ Whoever it is doesn't seem to take much pleasure in the idea.

"Yes, but..."

 

Suddenly the room seems blurry, and I blink, and when I open my eyes again it's still blurry, then it's back in focus, but it's _not the same room_. It's brighter, and there are funny-shaped doorways - heptagonal, d'ye call them? - leading into corridors. I reach for my gun, then remember I had to check it in, but looking quickly round there's no one in sight.

"You are not Vila Restal," says a voice, and it's the crabbit man I heard after I picked up that armlet.

"Er, no, I don't think I am." I cross the room to a desk covered in fancy levers and screens, and a big see-through box full of flashing lights sitting on top.

"Vila Restal is in the sensory ecstasy room," he says, and he sounds a wee bit puzzled, but I've worked out the voice is coming from the box.

"Lucky man." And if he can see that, it gives me a clue. "Are you Orac?"

"Indeed I am. Have you come to remove me?"

"Remove you? I don't know where you are. I don't know where _I_ am. Where am I? Who brought me here?"

"I did. You called me using Vila's bracelet," he says. "If the crew cannot take care of their own bracelets, I cannot be held responsible for their safety." He's a buck-passer, wherever he is.

"But where am I?"

"On the Liberator, of course."

"The Liberator? Ah... some sort of relaxation machine?"

"Hardly. It is a spaceship. And to forestall your next questions, it is in stationary orbit above the planet Chitta, and you came here by a method known as teleportation which it is highly unlikely that you would understand were I to explain its scientific basis."

I digest this. I'm glad to cut the complications, it means I can focus on the important stuff. "So we're not in the Rest Centre."

"No."

"Or on the planet."

"No."

"Can you get me back the same way?"

"Yes. Perhaps that would be advisable, before any of the crew notices..."

There are heavy footsteps in the corridor.

"Orac? Who are you talking to? Is someone back already?"

I swing round and see a big man - and that's a _very_ big man - coming in. He stares down at me in alarm.

"Who are _you_?"

"Ah... Grego Jarriere, galactic security consultant." I give him my best bow, but he keeps on coming, so I turn it into a dive that knocks his feet from under him. With his weight, and the height he's got to fall, I reckon that will be enough, and I wince myself when I hear his head crack.

"Is he dead?" asks Orac.

"No - just knocked out. Sorry, it seemed the safest thing to do..."

"Olag Gan could not have killed you. He has a limiter."

"A what?"

"The Federation installed an implant in his brain. It prevents him from killing."

"But that's awful!" I feel quite sick at the idea. I try to arrange the poor man's body so he'll be comfortable when he comes round. "Look, you said something about getting me back before anyone notices..."

"There is no danger of that at present. Gan is the only crew member on board."

"Apart from you."

"The crew do not consider me a member."

"Ah, you're a freelance like me, then?"

There's something like a snort from the box. "I believe _freelances_ are paid for their services."

"Then why _are_ you working for them? Have they got you locked up, or something?"

The lights in the box flash on and off for some seconds. Well, they've been doing that all along, but not quite this much. "You identified me as Orac, but you do not appear to know what I am."

"I know you're monitoring the security cameras, because I heard them say so, and I know you're talking through this box."

"You are either extraordinarily slow-witted, or unusually perceptive. Most humans assume I _am_ the box."

I look at it more carefully. "Wait a minute... are you some sort of computer?"

He snorts again. "Are you some sort of cell?"

Well, I _have_ worked for terrorists, though they're not my first choice, they don't pay well... "I prefer operating on my own."

A pause. "That may be what Vila Restal calls a joke. I mean that I am the sum of all computers. I am the mind that connects them, and I contain all their knowledge within this box."

I laugh. "It must be bigger on the inside than the outside!"

The lights flash a bit more. "That is a possible metaphor for my capacities."

Just then, there's a funny noise, a wobbly sort of whirring, and another voice interrupts. 

"Information. Main detectors report five ships approaching on bearing six five one."

"Who's that? You said there was no one else on board."

"That is the ship's computer," says Orac. He doesn't sound like a fan. Then, more loudly: "Identify ships."

"Data banks indicate Federation cruisers."

I frown. "What are they doing here? Chitta's independent."

"The Liberator is frequently pursued by Federation ships," says Orac. "You must adopt battle stations now."

" _I_ must? What's it to do with me?"

"You are on this ship."

"I didn't ask to be! You brought me here!"

"And you cannot leave without my help. You will defend the ship."

"How? I don't even know what class of ship this is. How can I handle the weapons systems?"

"They can be operated by spoken command. I will explain on the flightdeck, when you take me there; it is through the corridor on your left."

I hesitate. If spoken commands will do, maybe there's an escape pod.

"I can arrange payment. Name your fee."

Oh well, in that case... "Ten thousand credits. Plus tax."

"I will transfer it on completion of your work. Would you like it paid to your Helvetican account?"

"How did you know..."

"You said your name was Grego Jarriere. I have traced six accounts associated with that name on various planets. Is the Helvetican account appropriate?"

"Er, yes." I usually get a contract and a signature at this point, but I can see I'll have to do without. I pick up Orac's box and run off the way he tells me.

 

The flightdeck's a big place; this must be quite a ship. I put the box down on a low table and look round. There's a movement on the edge of my vision, and when I swing round part of the wall's lighting up. Someone round here must really like flashing lights.

Then there's more whirring, and the other computer speaks again. "Sensors indicate ships are seven thousand spacials distant and closing." Its voice seems to be coming from the flashing bit of wall.

Well, I'd better try and find out what I've got to fight with. "What's our weaponry?"

"The Liberator's principal armament consists of neutron blasters," says Orac. "You must clear them for firing."

He said spoken commands, didn't he. "Er, right, clear neutron blasters for firing!" There's a pause. "Did anything happen?"

"The ship's computer has been instructed not to accept commands from anyone other than the crew. I will override that programming... Try again."

"Clear neutron blasters for firing!"

"Neutron blasters cleared."

That was the Liberator's computer, and I can't help feeling a wee bit chuffed; big ships may not be my style, but it _is_ a thrill feeling she's under my control. 

"Is there a force wall?"

"The Liberator possesses a force wall and radiation flare shield," says the ship's computer. "Do you require them to be activated?"

"Yes please - Orac, does this computer have a name?"

Orac sounds a bit sniffy, as if he doesn't think other computers are entitled to names, but he does respond: "The crew refer to it as Zen."

"Zen? Good." I advance to one of the crew seats, and stare at the panels on the consoles, wondering what they do. 

"Zen, can you give me visual display?"

The console in front of me suddenly offers what must be a view of space, and five bright blips moving slowly towards us. 

"How long until they're in firing range?"

"Current course and speed will bring them in range in three minutes ten seconds," says Zen. "They will remain in range for fifty seconds."

"What? Oh, you mean they'd go past? They're not heading straight for us?"

"Sensors indicate they will pass at a distance of eight hundred spacials."

"Inform me when their course changes."

"Confirmed. Ships are now four thousand spacials distant, on same course."

I stare at the screen in front of me. "Shouldn't they be turning by now? Or moving into some sort of attack formation?"

"No data available."

"Or even a defence formation... they must be expecting _us_ to attack, mustn't they?" I rub my chin. "Suppose they _don't_?"

"Don't expect us to attack?" asks Orac.

"Don't change course. Are you sure they're after this ship?"

"What else would they be after?"

I find it generally saves time to consider the obvious first. "If they keep straight on, where would they end up?"

His lights flash. "A Chittan spaceport."

"Ganj?"

"Yes."

"That's it! There's a Chittan fleet there, and they wouldn't invite the Federation round for a knees-up... This lot aren't after the Liberator, they're going for Ganj! It's a surprise attack to knock out the fleet, and once they've done that there'll be a full invasion!"

"Excellent. We can withdraw safely, and at once," says Orac.

" _Nae way!_ I parked my ship there!" They may be aiming for the fleet, but there might be collateral damage.

"I have identified the ship registered under your name. It is easily replaceable."

"How... oh, you looked it up... The _ship_ may be replaceable. The sound system isn't."

"The sound system?"

"For music. I've spent _years_ building that system, I'm not having it blown to bits in a war I haven't even been hired for. We're defending that base. First thing, we should tell the Chittans what's going on..."

"Information," announces Zen. "Ships are one thousand spacials distant and are turning. Bearing zero one zero."

Damn. They spotted us. Well, this Liberator must be pretty hard to overlook.

"Hostile commander is making contact."

A section of the wall seems to dissolve into a screen, and a Space Captain stares out at me.

"Unknown ship, identify yourself and state purpose."

In her place, I'd have shot first and asked questions later, so she must think we're too big to take on unless she has to. That's good: I'm looking to buy time, and she was relying on surprise, but we're the ones who've surprised her.

I give a big smile in case Zen's got me on camera. "Oh, hullo, captain, I was about to ask you the same thing."

"We are on Federation business. If you are not, I suggest you get out of our way."

"Well, that's interesting, captain, because this wasn't Federation space last time I checked. And I didn't think we _were_ in your way, until you changed course just now."

"If you do not withdraw, my ships will be obliged to fire. You must be aware you are outnumbered. I will give you one minute to break orbit."

"Och, well, if you put it like that..."

A young man appears beside her and whispers in her ear. She stares at me again, wide-eyed.

"The Liberator? Are you Roj Blake?"

The name seems familiar, but I can't quite place it. "Does that make a difference, captain?"

She's gone without an answer, and looking down at my console it's showing the Federation ships as bigger, brighter blips. But I'm happy now. I've been in space battles, of course, but I'm more used to fighting face to face, knowing who I'm up against, reading their body language. Now I've got a face, and I've seen she's rattled. I wish I knew something about this Blake; if I knew what sort of move she's expecting, it might be easier to keep her off-balance. Usually, my opponents assume I'm less effective than I am; this time, she thinks the opposite. So what's she going to do? Throw everything she's got at me?

No, if she's any good, she'll throw most of it, and then try to sneak the rest through while I'm still reeling.

"Hostile ships are in range," announces Zen.

"Aren't you going to fire?" squawks Orac.

"Whisht! Not yet..." I keep my eyes on the console, waiting.

"Sensors report plasma bolt launched," says Zen.

They're teaching short minutes at the FSA these days, but I'm ready - 

"Fire blasters at the first ship on the right NOW!"

\- because I've seen all I need to know on the screen below me. Three blips glowing pale red, and three tiny dots - the bolts - running from them. That's my girl! The central ship, which must be hers, is holding back, and so's the one on the right.

"Confirmed."

With luck, we might score a hit before the follow-up attack. Without luck... well, if we hit it afterwards that's still one less to worry about.

The flightdeck shakes, and I grab at the console to steady myself. "That was - how many bolts?"

"One."

Oh. I wonder how much this ship can take, but maybe it's better not knowing.

The flight deck shakes again, and again, more violently.

"All three bolts have now hit the Liberator. Force field is operating at forty per cent. Next bolt launched."

I check the screen. A fourth blip's glowing red, but the fifth is exploding into yellow dots. One down!

"Fire again, first on the left..."

"Blasters will not regain full power for forty seconds. Fifty-five per cent power available now."

"Do it!" It may be enough to disable, and if we wait any longer...

The flightdeck really rocks this time, and I lose my footing and hit the floor. There's some smoke coming from one of the other consoles, which I'm guessing isn't a good sign. I scramble up, check my own screen, and see the blip on the left jolt, and turn pale blue. Two down?

"Plasma bolt launched."

"Fire again!"

"Not possible. Energy banks reduced to thirty per cent capacity."

Oh well, if I die I won't be needing my ship, or playing any music. I take a really firm grip on the console, and brace myself against the backrest.

Then the bolt hits. I keep my feet, but it's the worst blow we've had yet. Half the lighting goes and there's a smell like cordite. In the murk, the screen stands out even more brightly, and I'm puzzled that a second blip has turned pale blue.

" _Did_ we fire?"

"Negative. A counter-attack has been launched from the planet."

I grin at some smaller blips appearing at the bottom of the screen. What was the central blip is moving away at the top, the other is engaging the Chittans.

"Can we fire yet?"

"Negative. Blasters are recharging."

"How long will the ship leaving the battlefield be in range?"

"Thirty-five seconds."

"How much power will the blasters have in that time?"

"Forty per cent."

"Good, drop the force field, feed all available power into the blasters and fire as soon as we've enough - go for a kill if we can..." Sorry, lassie, but I'm going to want another Federation contract soon. So, just in case you realise I'm _not_ Roj Blake, it's better you can't identify me.

"Confirmed. Chittan commander is making contact."

"Not until we've fired!"

There's a pause.

"Blasters have fired at seventy-five per cent capacity." And the screen on the wall reappears, with an olive-skinned man looking anxiously out.

"Liberator! Thanks for the warning!"

"The warning?"

"Yes, we launched as quickly as we could, but you seem to have done most of the work for us."

"Oh... ah... glad to help. You can handle the last one?"

"Got it covered. Out." The screen goes blank.

I wait until I see the moving blip burst into yellow dots, then flop back into the seat.

 

"Orac, who warned the Chittans?"

"I did, of course, as you instructed."

It would have been nice to know, but... "Thanks..."

_"Zen?"_

Who's that? Someone on a comms channel...

_"Zen, there's an intruder on board. He attacked me. Can you tell me where he is?"_

Ah, him. Maybe all those blasts woke him up.

"There is a stranger on the flightdeck."

Oh, thanks, Zen. I thought we were comrades in arms now. "What did he tell him that for?"

"The Zen computer was asked a direct question, and had not been instructed to withhold the information. I have already explained that Olag Gan cannot kill you."

"He could still do me some serious damage if I ran into him. Can you get me off the ship from here?"

"No: it will be necessary to return to the teleport bay. There is another route which will avoid him."

I pick up Orac's box again.

"Er, Zen?" I ask. "Are you still taking my orders?"

"Confirmed."

"Then could you _not_ tell the crew where I am until I'm off this ship? If you could, er, suggest I've gone the other way..."

"Dissimulation is not possible. The information will be withheld as requested."

"That's brilliant, Zen! A pleasure working with you. Bye!"

I run through the door opposite the one where I came in.

 

 _"Gan?"_ It's a woman's voice this time. _"Gan, this is Cally. Can you hear me?"_

_"Cally, I'm here, but there's an intruder on the ship, I've got to find him..."_

_"What? No, wait, teleport Jenna and me, you'll need back-up."_

"Orac," I gasp as I run down another identical-looking corridor, "do the rest of the crew have limiters?"

"No. First left at next junction."

"Is the battle still going?"

"The Chittans have disabled the remaining ship."

 _"Zen?"_ The woman's voice. _"Can you locate the intruder?"_

_"No information available."_

I keep running. "What about the Liberator?"

"The auto-repair systems are restoring full functionality. Straight on."

 _"Gan?"_ A man's voice. Oh no, not _another_ of the crew. 

_"Gan? What's going on? People keep_ thanking _us for something. Can you bring us up?"_

_"Sorry, Blake, I'm not at the teleport - I was attacked. Jenna and Cally are helping me..."_

_"What? OK, explain later, Orac can do it. Orac, it's Blake here."_

"Yes? Am I to understand that you require teleport?"

_"That's right, Orac, bring us up now. Avon's here too."_

"One moment."

"What do we do?" I ask, skidding down the corridor.

"We are about to reach the teleport bay. Place me on the desk and conceal yourself."

Through the door - Orac on desk - dive under desk. 

"Teleporting now," says Orac's voice, and I hear steps running across the floor.

"Orac! What the hell is going on?" shouts a voice, quite close, and I recognise it as the suspicious man from the changing room.

"The Federation launched an attack on Chitta," says Orac coolly, "and the Liberator fought them off."

" _That's_ why everyone down there kept thanking us!" says the voice which called for teleport - presumably Blake.

"I didn't think they could be that grateful for a revolutionary hero dropping by for a swim," mutters the other.

"Good for Gan!" says Blake. "But why didn't he call us back to help? Why didn't _you_ call us?"

" _He_ did not have the opportunity, and _my_ instructions stated only that I should call you if I detected danger on the planet's surface," says Orac. "In any case, it was unnecessary. Everything was under control."

" _Gan_ fought them off?" asks the suspicious man. "I thought his limiter stopped him firing the neutron blasters."

"Well, the Chittans said something about a man with curly hair, and I've an alibi," says Blake. "They all reckoned he was a hero, whatever he did!"

"But what's this about him being attacked? Did the Federation get a man on board? How? Have Gan and the girls got him?"

"The Federation did not put a man on board," says Orac. "And I do not believe that anyone has been found."

"Maybe we misunderstood, and he meant the Federation ships' attack," says Blake.

"If you wish to speak to the crew, they are in the vicinity of the flightdeck."

"Thanks, Orac. Oh, maybe you could bring Vila up - we didn't see him as we were leaving."

"Trust Vila to sit out a battle in an ecstasy machine."

"Oh, come on Avon, you can drop the ascetic act, I saw you in the jacuzzi..."

 

I hear steps moving away, and after a minute Orac speaks, more quietly than before.

"It is safe for you to come out. You have a teleport bracelet?"

I crawl out from under the desk and check my arm. "Yes, let's do it before anyone else turns up!"

His lights flash. "Thank you for your assistance. Your ship is safe, your fee has been paid, and I have stored your details for future use."

"You're planning to hire me again?" 

"You described yourself as a security consultant. This crew is too careless of its own security, never mind mine. I predict that they will eventually lose this ship, and there is a strong risk that I may be stranded in a dangerous environment. At such time, I may call on you to remove me."

I laugh. "I've never worked for a computer before, but if the money's good, I'm at your service..." I back on to the platform. "Goodbye."

"Teleporting now!"

 

Everything blurs again, and I blink my eyes open in the changing room. There's a man on his knees with his head under the bench, and I recognise him, too. I pull off the armlet.

"Looking for this, mate?"

"Oh... thanks! I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry if I startled you. I was behind there, looking for my earring." I nod at the lockers.

"Is that it? Caught in your hair, behind your collar?" He reaches up, with a deft flick of his wrist, and drops it in my hand.

"Thanks! Had a good day?"

"Oh yes... you too?"

I think for a moment. "Yes... Yes, I did!" And I'm grinning as I saunter out of the changing room and head off to reclaim my gun.


End file.
